


I Don't Know Him Like You Know Him

by Goodnight_Stars



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: All of this is very mild and non-explicit, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mention of torture, Mention of wounds, Non-Explicit, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23716696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodnight_Stars/pseuds/Goodnight_Stars
Summary: Una and Vina both love Christopher Pike, but they know different sides of the same man.If Vina could talk to her rival, what would she say?
Relationships: Christopher Pike/Vina, Number One/Christopher Pike
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	I Don't Know Him Like You Know Him

**Author's Note:**

> my first fic...i'm normally a poetry girl, but this just poured out of me last night, no planning  
> please let me know if you like it <3  
> love and hugs

Oh, I know…I don’t know him like you know him. I couldn’t claim that, and I wouldn’t try.

I haven’t spent years of my life studying his every movement, watching his face for life and death, fearing for his safety. I haven’t stood by holding back my fury when someone drags him off for more torture, or bursting with pride when someone pins another medal on his chest. I haven’t laughed over lunch or stayed up all night working by his side or sent him reports every night for the last fifteen years.

I haven’t stifled a smile when he shows up on the bridge with his hair messy and his collar unbuttoned because the ambassador showed up while he was still in the shower. I haven’t slapped his face to keep him awake when he’s half-frozen on the surface of an abandoned planet, and I haven’t felt his strong, gentle hands on my shoulder and my waist during the waltz after the President’s Inauguration at Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. I haven’t gotten my hands dirty pressing on a phaser wound to keep him alive.

I don’t know him like that.

I couldn’t tell you what his favorite food is, or where he went to high school, or what stories he tells the most, or what face he makes when he’s laughing and trying not to show it.

But I can tell you this.

I can tell you what he felt like when he woke up after the accident, every nerve scorched, every breath more painful than any of his doctors could imagine, only wanting relief, only wanting to die. I can tell you how he felt being trapped in a cage, used as an experiment, hurt and manipulated and bullied.

I can tell you about the look in his eyes when he saw that horse he loved as a kid, and about the gentleness of his hands when he took mine—not to tease or romance or seduce me, but to comfort me in my despairing captivity.

I’ve seen his memories in my own dreams: how he worked desperately, splashed to the waist in mud, trying to finish the job his father had given him in time, and it still wasn’t enough…how he started to drink that night after his first love dumped him, but threw away the bottle in a fit of righteous self-control…how he ran away to the barn as a kid and lay in the straw, clenching his fists with anger, wanting to run to his mother for comfort, but ashamed to let her see what his stepfather had done to him. I’ve seen it all, in hints and moments and ragged pieces of remembrance.

I can’t tell you much about his philosophies or his habits, but I can tell you what he fears and loves most, what he thinks about and never says aloud. I can’t tell you where he’s been or what he’s done, but I can tell you everything he’s dreamed for the last fifteen years.

I know you’re better suited for the captain, the public man, the hero of the Federation, Starfleet’s golden boy. I’d never argue with that. You know him like the back of your hand. You read him like a book. And you’re brilliant, beautiful, strong, brave, perfect in every way…just like him.

I’d be ashamed to put myself forward next to that.

But maybe…just maybe… _haven’t you ever wondered this?_ Maybe he couldn’t quite bear the pain of being with a perfect woman.

Maybe he’s a perfect man who’s exhausted from being perfect. Maybe instead of being praised for his exploits and his morals, he needs someone to whisper in his ear, _It’s okay, Chris. If you’d done the wrong thing, I’d still be here. If you’d taken the coward’s way out, I would have understood. If you come back a helpless, horrifying wreck of yourself, I won’t care, because I’m that way, too. We’re the same. It’s okay, Chris. You’re okay._

What I mean is…I know I can’t measure up to you. I never could. You’re Number One. I’ll always be Number Two next to you.

But Chris might need someone small and unworthy and imperfect to love instead of someone who’s everything.

With me, he can’t be perfect, because I know. I know what it feels like. I know how much pain he’s in. With me, he can be as broken as he really is, because there’s no keeping it a secret. But he can be strong, too, in a way he’s never had to be for you, never had to be for Starfleet. Because I’m nothing but a shell of a woman, a person with no hope left, a butterfly with broken wings. He can be nothing and everything at the same time, because here, broken and scarred and imperfect as he may be, he is my whole world.

I know…I don’t know him like you know him. You’ve memorized the official biography of Christopher Pike. You could’ve written it yourself. You know everything he’s ever let people see, footnotes and all.

All I have are his dreams, his scars, his fears. Fragments of the poems he’s never written.

But that’s enough for me.


End file.
